


Anything for You

by burning_arrow



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Character Death (sort of but not really), F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 22:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8464675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burning_arrow/pseuds/burning_arrow
Summary: Kahlan hopes that it’s not too late to tell Cara what the Mord’Sith really means to her.  Takes place sometime vaguely after Tears.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal on 1/15/14.

Richard had called her insane.  
  
Now, clinging to this slick, wet cliff face in the night, the storm swirling about her, the rain lashing her skin, the wind tearing at her dark traveling clothes, the pads of her fingers and hands ripped and bleeding from the sharp stone, Kahlan considered the idea that he might be right. Then a second thought occurred to her. If she was crazy, why wasn’t he crazy too? Why had he given up on Cara, when she wouldn’t, when she couldn’t? She knew the answer, but she was still so furious with the Seeker for readily accepting the death of his best friend that her anger swiftly glossed over any such details. Never mind the little voice in the back of her head that said that really, it hadn’t been so easy for him, not at all - it’s just that it had been unbearable for her.  
  
Yet, insane or not, the fact remained that, at this very moment, she had one of two choices – continue climbing, or fall to a very uninviting and no doubt messy death. She hadn’t travelled halfway across the Midlands and back only to fail in the final hour, so the Mother Confessor grimaced and reached for the next handhold. After an eternity of struggling up the sheer, uncompromising stone, interspersed with a few tricky moments when she found herself dangling from her fingertips, Kahlan hauled herself onto a flat ledge protected by an overhang of rock. She flopped unceremoniously on her back, sucking in deep lungfuls of air, strands of wet hair clinging to her face. Her muscles quivered with adrenaline and exhaustion.  
  
“I’ve seen better days for a climb, my dear.”  
  
Kahlan rolled herself over quickly, startled by the rough croak of a voice. The ledge was merely the lip of a cave that extended far back into the shadows, but halfway between the Confessor and the shadows sat an old woman hunched over a cauldron that bubbled and frothed on a brightly burning fire. The woman’s hair was the color of polished steel and pulled back into a tight bun. Her frame was sturdy and seemed to hold great strength, despite the wrinkles upon wrinkles that suggested that she was ancient. Whatever age she might be, the gaze in the woman’s dark eyes spoke of both keen intelligence and mirth. Kahlan sprang to her feet. Her eyes widened and her hands shook.  
  
“Are you the Crone?” the Confessor asked, a tremor in her voice.  
  
The old woman cackled. Then she replied in the same thick croak, “Oh, it’s been a while since I’ve heard one of the old names. But, you – oh, damn.”  
  
The old woman thumped herself hard on the chest and hacked a couple of times. Then she took a sip from a cup by her side. When she spoke again, the croak was completely gone, replaced by a rich alto tone.  
  
“You’ll have to excuse me. It’s been ages since I’ve had company. My voice tends to get a little rusty from lack of use. Now, where was I? Oh yes – I don’t like to stand on ceremony. You can call me Ula.”  
  
“Oh, thank the Spirits! Please, Ula, you have to help me. My friend has died and I have searched all over the Midlands for someone who could bring her back. I was told that your power has no match. Please, please, help me,” gushed Kahlan in one breath. That hadn’t been how she intended for it to come out. She was not sure how she had meant for it to sound, but at the very least it should have been a bit more dignified. After all, the Mother Confessor didn’t beg. But she hadn’t eaten in two days, hadn’t slept in four, and had just scaled a cliff wall in a raging storm, and somewhere along the line, the should’s and shouldn’t’s of polite conversation had vacated her mind.  
  
“Good grief, girl, slow down! Come have a sit here by the fire with me. You’re shaking like a leaf and you look like you’ve been battling the Keeper himself.”  
  
“But-“  
  
“Look, your friend is already dead. It’s not like the few minutes it will take to warm you up will kill her – I mean, make her more dead, anyway.”  
  
Kahlan stared dumbly at the woman for a minute. This was not the powerful sorceress that she had anticipated meeting, but Ula commanded respect in her own way. The Confessor shuffled forward on cold-numbed feet until she drew up to the fire. The old woman patted the log next to her and Kahlan obediently sat down. The sorceress studied Kahlan, and up close her gaze was unnerving in its intensity.  
  
“Now, tell me about this friend of yours.” Kahlan didn’t like the way Ula lingered over the word ‘friend’, as if it wasn’t quite the right word.  
  
The Confessor thought for a moment before saying, “Her name is Cara. We’ve been travelling together for almost three years now. She’s very important to me.”  
  
Ula snorted. “I can see she’s important to you - you proved that by your very dramatic ascent into my home. What I want to know is, why should she live?”  
  
“Well, she’s brave, loyal, tenacious, intelligent…and she’s helped saved the world at least twice.”  
  
“There are many people who are brave, loyal, and all that nonsense. I admit there’s fewer that can claim to have saved the world, especially twice, but you’re still not answering my question, child.”  
  
Kahlan gawked at the woman. Ula’s eyes bored into her, and the Confessor felt as if the sorceress was peeling away layer upon layer of emotional protection that Kahlan had worked so hard to erect around herself. Kahlan swallowed.  
  
“I…” Her voice died in her throat.  
  
“I didn’t quite hear that, my dear.” The sorceress's eyes danced with laughter, but they did not let Kahlan look away either. The Confessor squirmed under the scrutiny.  
  
“I…I think I love her.”  
  
“Think or do?” Ula’s voice made it quite clear that she would tolerate no dissembling. Kahlan blanched.  
  
“I do. I love her.”  
  
“Now, was that really so hard?”  
  
_Harder than anything else in my life_ , thought Kahlan morosely. Loving Cara had fundamentally disrupted her life in a way that she had neither been prepared for nor entirely welcomed. It wasn’t that life had been easy before the Mord’Sith had entered her life, but it was the life that she had been trained for – seek justice, protect the Midlands, guide the Seeker. That she and Richard had developed feelings for one another was unexpected, but it still flowed smoothly into the pre-determined path of her life. Her love for the Seeker made her duty to him all the easier. But when Cara became part of their lives the resulting emotions were messy, raw, complicated – leaving Kahlan vulnerable and exposed, wanting things that no Confessor should ever want or could ever have. So she’d clung to the life that made sense to her and for a while it was normal. Then Cara died.  
  
Richard saw it happen and it was his shout that had spun Kahlan around. The Mord’Sith had just stood there, as if there weren’t two arrows jutting out in grotesque angles from her chest and abdomen. If anything, Cara had looked a little bit annoyed, like mortal wounds were mere inconveniences. One minute she had been there, the next there was just an empty shell on the ground. And Kahlan’s heart shattered. She knew with dreadful certainty that she had made a terrible mistake…  
  
“Come back, child. It will be all right.”  
  
Kahlan blinked. Ula was patting her hand and giving her a reassuring smile. As the Confessor dragged herself back into the present, the sorceress returned her attentions to the cauldron in front of her. Strange smells wafted up with the steam from the pot, as the old woman stirred the dark liquid inside. Silently, Ula ladled some of the liquid into a small wooden bowl, followed by a second bowl. She handed one of the bowls to Kahlan.  
  
“Here, this will help.”  
  
Kahlan eyed the bowl with suspicion. The surface of the brew showed a slight sheen of oil, and strange green objects bobbed in the liquid.  
  
“Is it some sort of potion?” the Confessor asked.  
  
“Spirits, no. It’s dinner!” replied Ula as she dropped a spoon into Kahlan’s bowl with a plop.  
  
***  
  
The soup had been surprisingly tasty. The mysterious green things turned out to be chunks of a sweet, tangy root that Kahlan had never heard of before, and the oil came from the hearty chunks of elk meat at the bottom of the bowl. The peculiar smell was from the unusual spices flavoring the broth. The sorceress had grumbled that Kahlan had better appreciate them because they were from the Old World and none too easy to come by. By the time Kahlan had drained the bowl, her body had warmed and her hands were steady, if still chafed from her climb. Ula gave Kahlan a hard stare and then nodded sharply.  
  
“Well, come on then.”  
  
The old woman led Kahlan to the back of the cave. The tunnel curved to the right, and past a large boulder Kahlan saw a set of stairs descending down into darkness.  
  
“Where do these go?” asked Kahlan.  
  
“Why, to the bottom of the cliff, of course. You can’t expect an old woman to get down there the way you came up, can you? And I’ll need the body before I can bring her back,” replied the sorceress.  
  
“There are stairs?” Kahlan said incredulously. “But I just spent half the night climbing that cliff in the pouring rain. You – you could have told me!”  
  
“And what good would that do? You needed to prove your commitment. Besides, I can’t just have anybody trouncing in here unannounced, now can I?”  
  
“But, I’m not just anybody, I’m the Mo-“ started Kahlan.  
  
“The Mother Confessor. Yes, I’m well aware of that. But don’t start getting such ideas in your head now, or you won’t be worth the title. In matters of the heart, you’re just the same as any other man or woman, and don’t you forget that,” admonished the sorceress sternly.  
  
Kahlan gaped at the old woman, her mouth hanging open, slack and useless. Ula was right of course. Kahlan’s authority meant nothing here. Shutting her mouth with enough force to jar her teeth, the chastened Confessor followed after the sorceress as she descended the stairs. Sconces along the wall lit up with flame as soon as Ula neared, and extinguished once they were past. Soon, the twisting staircase deposited them on a landing in front of a wall of solid rock. The sorceress muttered a few words under her breath.  
  
“Follow me,” she said to Kahlan, not bothering to look behind to see if the Confessor complied. Then she walked straight through the stone. Kahlan took a deep breath and plunged after her. Passing through the rock as if it were air, the Confessor found herself at the base of the cliff. The rain had ceased and the night was still beneath the few stars that had finally broken through the clouds. Kahlan’s horse stood under the trees where she had left him tied. Next to him, another horse waited patiently. Carefully tied across the mare’s back, a long formless shape lay shrouded by a thick blanket and a rain skin. Kahlan swallowed hard, unease pulling at her stomach. Cara’s body.  
  
With a slight flick of Ula’s wrist, the knots holding the body to the mare loosened, and Kahlan gasped in horror as the obscured form began to slip, the blankets falling away. Before it could touch the ground though, invisible hands seemed to catch Cara’s body and it floated gently toward them, landing softly at the sorceress’s feet. If Kahlan squinted, Cara just might have been sleeping. Zedd’s preservation spell had worked well. Kahlan had begged him to bring Cara back, and when he could not, she asked him to protect the body from the ravages of time until she could find a different way. That had been three months and too many miles ago.  
  
The sorceress bent over the Mord’Sith, examining her. The old woman lifted one of Cara’s eyelids and Kahlan had to look away.  
  
“Hmm. Not half bad. Zedd’s work, I suppose?”  
  
“Yes,” replied Kahlan softly.  
  
Ula hummed quietly to herself. Long minutes passed. The night air seemed to gather in around them, until Kahlan thought she might suffocate. Finally she spoke, unable to contain herself any longer.  
  
“I should probably tell you that both Zedd and Shota tried to bring her back already.”  
  
“Shota!” growled the sorceress with sudden fierceness. “Shota is all well and good if you want your palm read, but you should’ve come to me first if you wanted real magic done.”  
  
The vehemence in Ula’s voice startled Kahlan. “I didn’t even know you existed until a month ago! How was I to know that Shota couldn’t do it? Even a half rate wizard was able to bring Dennee and Richard back with this.”  
  
Kahlan pulled a small bottle out of a pouch at her waist. The vial was half full with a black, vile-looking liquid. It was the same potion that had been used to bring her sister and the Seeker back from the dead. She had spent weeks gathering the ingredients needed to make the potion. At the time, Richard had still been helping her. He had been distraught over Cara’s death and was almost as keen as Kahlan to have his friend back. Little did he know that Kahlan’s motivations were not his own. It wasn’t until after, when the spell had not worked, that things fell apart between them. Kahlan was desperate to find something, anything, that would bring the Mord’Sith back. Richard had thought the time had come to accept the loss and find a way to move on. The fight that had ensued turned nasty, and in the end the Seeker had called her insane. He didn’t know that she was really just in love. And Kahlan hadn’t been able to bring herself to explain that to him. She could barely explain it to herself.  
  
The sorceress reached up and took the vial from the Confessor’s hand. She took one look at it and flung it over her shoulder. Kahlan cried out. The vial smashed against the cliff face, the last of the precious liquid glistening darkly on the stone.  
  
“What have you done?!” gasped the Confessor.  
  
Ula sneered. “Bah! Such tricks are for novices!” She gave Kahlan a wicked, impish smile. “Are you ready to see what a real sorceress can do?”  
  
Kahlan stammered. “I…I…yes, if it brings Cara back, then do it.”  
  
“And what of the price?” asked the sorceress, her gaze shrewd as she squinted at Kahlan.  
  
Price. Of course there was a price. She should have expected it. But it didn’t matter, did it? The only matter of importance was Cara being returned to her. She would gladly pay any price for that. Kahlan felt a strange calm settle over her as she came to that realization.  
  
“Name your price,” answered Kahlan, her voice steady.  
  
“Oh, it’s not my price, child. It’s the magic’s price. Something this powerful takes great sacrifice.”  
  
“What is it, then?”  
  
The old woman’s eyelids fluttered shut, and Kahlan could see her eyes move rapidly behind them, as if they were reading something written on the inside. Her mouth pinched shut in a thin line. When her eyes flew open again, they glowed with a strange light. Her voice sounded like distant thunder as she proclaimed, “Until her power is equal to your own, you will have none at all.”  
  
“I’ll lose my power of confession?” asked Kahlan quietly, her mind reeling at the implications.  
  
“It would seem so, my dear.”  
  
“But how can Cara’s power ever equal my own? She’s no Confessor.”  
  
“That is not for me to say. I do not ask the price, I only tell you what it is.”  
  
Kahlan considered the choice before her. Life without Cara or life without her power. She’d never been without her powers, not really. Oh, a Rada’Han could block its effects, but her magic was always there, swirling inside of her. And there had been that one time, when she’d been split into two people, but once she’d been made whole she had no recollection of her life without confession. She wasn’t even sure who she would be if she wasn’t the Mother Confessor. But life as the Mother Confessor meant so little without Cara.  
  
“Do it,” said Kahlan tersely.  
  
“Good,” replied Ula, nodding her head as if Kahlan had answered more than one question.  
  
The sorceress drew herself to her full height and raised her arms over Cara’s body. Crimson light filled the Crone’s eyes, and a pulsing red glow filled each of her palms. The light spread, lifting off her skin like mist and flowing around her hands. The next moment, the strange fog blazed with intensity, the reddish glare almost painful to look at. The sorceress frowned. Kahlan thought she heard her mutter something that sounded suspiciously like the word ‘peculiar’.  
  
Then the glow disappeared and Ula laughed, a jarring sound in the quiet night.  
  
“I should have figured that Mord’Sith of yours would be too stubborn to go without a fight. Seems the reason that Shota couldn’t retrieve her spirit from the Underworld is that it never made it to the Underworld in the first place,” said Ula.  
  
“It what? But how? Where did it go?” gushed Kahlan in confusion.  
  
“Why, it’s right here.” The sorceress waved at the empty space next to Kahlan.  
  
The Confessor whirled around as if she expected to see Cara standing next to her, but there was nothing but the night. _Of course not_ , she chided herself. It was a foolish hope.  
  
“But that’s impossible,” said Kahlan weakly, disappointment aching inside her.  
  
“Rare, extraordinary, and unexpected, dear, but not impossible.”  
  
“But then…” Kahlan mulled this over. “…she’s been here…all this time…”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Why? I mean, was it the preservation spell? Was she trapped with her body?” asked Kahlan, her mind trying to make sense of the old woman’s words.  
  
Ula clucked as if she’d just said something profoundly silly, but the sorceress’s smile and voice were gentle when she said, “I doubt it was her body that she was interested in, child. If I had to guess, your friend had no more interest in being separated from you than you from her.”  
  
Kahlan swallowed hard. Her heart was racing. Cara had stayed. The Mord’Sith had stayed _with her_. The Confessor had only very recently recognized the depth of her feelings for Cara, and for some reason she had presumed that the emotion was unrequited. Now, it seemed that she had been wrong once again.  
  
“Can you still bring her back?” asked Kahlan softly.  
  
The mischievous grin was back. “Of course! Do you doubt it?”  
  
Kahlan shook her head, but her insides were trying to tie themselves in knots. She’d travelled with a crazed certainty for months and now, when success was so close at hand, the possibility of failure suddenly seemed all too real. She didn’t think the doubt in her would fade until the sorceress had done her work. Fortunately, Ula seemed to be having no such crisis of confidence.  
  
“This is going to be fun, my dear. I haven’t seen a case like this in ages. Now, let me see…” The old woman rummaged in the various pouches that hung at her waist. With a victorious cry she pulled out an object that appeared to be a dead twig. Though Zedd had taught her a thing or two about herblore, this twig looked decidedly unremarkable in the Confessor’s eyes – until it began to sprout leaves made of pure, white light.  
  
“This should help,” said Ula absently. She blew gently on the leaves and they separated into a great burst of tiny sparks. Kahlan thought there must have been thousands of them. They drifted past her, as if carried on a breeze, though no wind rustled the leaves of the nearby trees. One by one, the little stars coalesced into a form next to the Confessor. As the lights stuck to the air, like snowflakes against skin, Kahlan gasped.  
  
It was Cara, or at least the shape of her. Her features were obscured and there were still more dark patches than light, but there was no mistaking the curves of her body, the rigid posture, the arrogant tilt of her chin.  
  
Or the impatient cross of her arms across her chest that seemed to say, _Get on with it, you morons_.  
  
Kahlan laughed, a note of hysteria creeping into the sound, as she stared at the glowing, ghost-like presence. She raised a trembling hand, wanting to reach out and touch the spirit standing next to her.  
  
“I’m afraid you’re hand will just pass right through, child,” said Ula behind her, her voice mild, almost sad.  
  
Kahlan’s hand stopped scarcely a hand’s width from Cara’s cheek. The figure shifted, her arms dropping to her side and her posture relaxing. Kahlan would have sworn the spirit was looking at her. The spirit’s body leaned toward her out-stretched hand. Then, there came the sound of a throat being cleared.  
  
“Right. Well, let’s get on with this,” muttered the old woman.  
  
Before Kahlan could respond she heard the sorceress begin an incantation. A violent gust of wind tore at her clothing and the spirit in front of her was blown away, like sand in a storm. A thunderclap boomed painfully close, shaking the cliff wall and causing the ground to tremor. The horses whickered and tugged at their ropes. Purple lightning arced through the sky. Some distant part of Kahlan thought that the thunder should have followed the lightning, but then again, what did she really know about this kind of magic?  
  
As swift as it had come, the storm receded. Silence rushed in, leaving Kahlan’s ears ringing. After the brilliance of the lightning, her eyes struggled to see in the darkness. A faint rustling nearby drew her attention. Kahlan froze, her ears reaching for the sound. The sound came again, louder this time, followed by a cough. Kahlan’s breath stopped in her chest. Ula should have still been behind her, but this was somewhere in front of her.  
  
“What in the Keeper’s name am I doing on the ground in the dark?” The low growl of a voice spurred Kahlan into action.  
  
“Cara,” whispered Kahlan, not daring yet to believe.  
  
“Kahlan? Where are we? And why are you whispering?”  
  
The flash of the lightning had faded enough that Kahlan could now see a figure of someone sitting on the ground, where Cara’s body had been only moments before. Kahlan stumbled forward and dropped to her knees in front of Cara. She stared at the shape of the now living Mord’Sith. She wanted to reach out, to hold Cara, but her arms didn’t seem to be responding.  
  
“Is it really you?”  
  
“Of course it’s me. What’s gotten into you?” demanded Cara, her voice holding an edge of irritation.  
  
Despite the impatience in the Mord’Sith’s voice, or perhaps because of it, Kahlan found herself grinning, even as the tears began to fall. She flung herself at Cara, wrapping her arms around the Mord’Sith’s shoulders as the tears turned to gasping sobs of relief. Cara patted her back awkwardly, which just made Kahlan tighten her grip.  
  
Somewhere behind her she heard Ula snicker. “I told you I was better than that charlatan Shota.”  
  
***  
  
Cara huffed grumpily as she reached for the next handhold. She was going to need a new pair of gloves after this climb. Hot sun poured down on her as she scaled the cliff face, making her leathers sticky and uncomfortable. She forced the irritation from her mind. If Kahlan could make the ascent in the rain and darkness, the Mord’Sith would not let herself be waylaid by such trifling distractions. Her progress, however, felt torturously slow. It wasn’t until the afternoon sun had slunk lower toward the horizon and the shadows began to lengthen that she finally threw one leg over the lip of the cavern’s entrance. She pushed herself up and brushed the dust from her leathers, snorting in annoyance at their disarray.  
  
“Well, well, if it isn’t the recently dead Mord’Sith,” clucked a voice from within the shadows. Ula stepped into the light, a cast iron pan in her hand. “I wouldn’t have expected you to leave the Mother Confessor’s side so soon. What brings you here, my dear?”  
  
“You need to give the Mother Confessor’s power back to her – now,” replied Cara bluntly.  
  
“Ah, I see,” said the sorceress calmly. “Is the Mother Confessor unhappy with the bargain she struck?”  
  
“No, but that is beside the point. She’s needs her power back. Fix it,” the Mord’Sith growled.  
  
“Did she ask you to fix it?”  
  
“No, but…”  
  
“And, I take it that Kahlan has no knowledge of your little excursion here?”  
  
“No, but…”  
  
“So, the Mother Confessor has accepted the price of the magic that brought you back, yet you have not. Why?”  
  
Cara ignored the question and the shrewd expression on the old woman’s face. Her hand came to rest on the sheath at her side. “You know I am Mord’Sith. So you know I can repel your magic. And if you refuse to do as I say, I have ways of making you see things my way.” She patted the agiels that lay snug against her hip.  
  
“Perhaps.” Ula shrugged unworriedly, before fixing Cara with a hard stare. “Or perhaps I’ll knock you off this cliff with my frying pan, you insolent, ungrateful ass. No magic needed there.”  
  
The sorceress’s tone gave Cara pause. Ula had raised the heavy pan and was pointing at her with it. Though the woman was undoubtedly ancient, her frame and posture spoke of strength and the expression on her face made the threat seem almost credible for a moment. At the very least, the Mord’Sith decided that she would try a different tact first before rushing into a physical confrontation with the sorceress.  
  
“Kahlan Amnell is no ordinary woman. The Midlands rely on her to uphold the rule of law. She needs the power of confession in order to maintain that rule,” said Cara.  
  
“You’ll find that I would quite agree with you,” replied Ula, the pan dropping to her side once again.  
  
Cara’s brows wrinkled in confusion. “Then why take her power? That makes no sense.”  
  
“As I told the Confessor, it is not my price, but the price of the magic itself. You ask-“ The sorceress paused over the word, giving Cara a sharp look. Asking was not exactly what Cara had just been doing. “-you ask that I return her power. It’s not that I will not. I can not. It is beyond me. However, I did give the Confessor a way in which her power might be returned.”  
  
Cara waved her hand impatiently in front of her. “You mean that absurd little riddle about my power equaling hers. That’s impossible.”  
  
The sorceress’s eyes narrowed and Cara suddenly felt uncomfortable under the woman’s gaze. Ula pursed her lips before replying tersely, “I didn’t think it so impossible, but you’re starting to make me wonder.”  
  
The Mord’Sith was baffled. She was clearly being chastised by the sorceress, but she had no idea what for. Indignation flared in her gut and she glared at the old woman. “Speak plainly, Crone. How is any of this my fault?”  
  
Ula returned her stare with a look that reminded Cara of her mother after she’d accidentally let all the chickens out of the coop as a child. It spoke of disappointment and frustration, with a touch of amusement. Then the sorceress sighed.  
  
“I see I’m going to have to explain this to you, aren’t I? You know, child, the Mother Confessor did say that you were intelligent. I certainly hope she wasn’t wrong.”  
  
Cara bristled at both the insult and at being called ‘child’. She barely tolerated Zedd’s use of the phrase around her, and this condescending sorceress had earned no such right. If it were not for the offer of the answer to her questions, she may have followed her first instinct and drawn an agiel on the old woman.  
  
As it was, she only just managed to still her hand as she replied through gritted teeth, “Get on with it then.”  
  
With a flick of Ula’s wrist, a plain but comfortable looking wooden chair appeared beside the sorceress. She settled herself into it with a small groan of relief and satisfaction. She laid her pan down beside her, before motioning to Cara and saying, “Please, sit, if you’d like.”  
  
No second chair appeared. Cara glanced around balefully at the dirt and stone floor of the cave and rolled her eyes. “I’ll stand.”  
  
“Suit yourself, my dear. Now, let me start with a question. What is the power of confession?”  
  
Cara stared at the woman. It was possibly the stupidest question she’d ever been asked. There wasn’t anybody in the Midlands who didn’t know what the power of confession was or what it did. When the sorceress gave no indication that she had been joking, however, Cara replied flatly, “Confession allows a Confessor to effectively enslave the person upon whom she uses it.”  
  
“Yes, but how?”  
  
“How what?”  
  
“How does confession allow a Confessor to control a person?”  
  
Cara shrugged. “Magic.”  
  
“Good grief, you’re hopeless,” muttered the sorceress, rubbing her brow in disbelief. “No. The answer is love. It is through love that a Confessor ensures obedience.”  
  
It was Cara’s face that now twisted with incredulity. “You’re saying that love would do that to a person – strip away their free will and leave them at the mercy of another? That’s absurd, that’s-”  
  
“Terrible. Yes, dear, it is. But love takes many forms and often they are deceptively cruel. A Confessor’s love overwhelms those who come in contact with it. It is not intentionally malicious, but rather it is a force of nature, a great wave sweeping aside any resistance. A raging river does not purposely harm those who would ford it, but it will drown anyone who cannot swim, just the same. Only those whose own love is as powerful as that of a Confessor can stand their touch. Such people are incredibly rare. Now, do you understand?” finished Ula.  
  
No, Cara didn’t, but she kept her mouth shut as she mulled Ula’s words over. If Kahlan’s power was her love, then… “My love has to be as strong as hers.”  
  
“Finally, the Mord’Sith figures it out,” mocked the sorceress, wearing a smug grin.  
  
“But, Kahlan doesn’t love me.”  
  
Ula threw up her hands in exasperation. “Spirits, are you a complete idiot?! The woman spent three months travelling to the ends of the earth to bring you back from the dead, and the whole time, your spirit trailed after her like a lost puppy dog. How hard is this? She loves you, you love her. Just show her that and maybe you’ll figure it out.”  
  
Cara was stunned. She gaped dumbly at the sorceress, wondering if she’d heard the words right. True, the Mord’Sith had caught Kahlan looking at her strangely now and again, but love…that was impossible, wasn’t it? Surely Kahlan loved Richard. The Confessor had loved Richard since before Cara had joined their little ragtag band travelling across half the known world. Yet, now that Cara thought of it, Kahlan had mentioned Richard only in passing since returning to Aydindril. The Mord’Sith had assumed that the Confessor avoided speaking of Richard because their separation while he established his rule in D’Hara was too painful to put into words…or some such excessive emotion that Cara was only too happy to avoid discussing with the Confessor. The fact that Kahlan had never refrained from such conversations before hadn’t really occurred to Cara until now. When Richard had sent orders telling Cara to stay in Aydindril with Kahlan, the Mord’Sith had simply assumed that it Richard’s typical gesture of devotion to the Confessor – and that the affection was returned by Kahlan. Cara’s brows furrowed. Could she really have read things so incorrectly? The Mord’Sith’s heart skipped a beat.  
  
Ula’s voice cut through Cara’s reverie. “She didn’t tell you, did she?”  
  
Cara started, as if woken from a deep sleep. She shook her head slowly. Her voice was hoarse when she replied simply, “No.”  
  
The sorceress’s face softened immediately into something resembling sympathy. Cara was almost certain that she preferred the sarcasm over the pitying look she was being given.  
  
“And you don’t remember anything from when you were dead, do you?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Did she ask?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
The night after Cara’s resurrection, Kahlan had asked Cara what, if anything, she recalled about the three months that she’d been dead. Cara’s answer was simple – she remembered nothing. The Confessor had seemed disappointed by this answer. When Cara had then asked what Kahlan had done to get her back, the Confessor had responded with only sparse details. She knew that Kahlan had faced many challenges to get her back, but the Confessor had refused to speak of them. Within a few days, on the journey back to Aydindril, they had fallen back into their old patterns. By the time they had reached the Confessor’s city, Kahlan had seemed a little withdrawn, almost sad, but then they had been swept up in the celebration of the Mother Confessor’s return and the difficulty of concealing Kahlan’s lost power.  
  
“This is starting to make more sense now,” said Ula thoughtfully, tapping a finger on her chin. The sorceress gazed at the ceiling and continued to speak, almost as if to herself. “You don’t remember being with her during those months. She finds out, thinks maybe you don’t actually love her after all. So, she just pretends as if it was nothing, and you being…well, you…you don’t see what’s really going on. You act as you’ve always done. No wonder she hasn’t gotten her power back.”  
  
Cara’s hackles rose once again. She wasn’t sure how many more times this woman could insult her intelligence before she failed to restrain herself. For Kahlan’s sake, though, she took a deep breath and forced herself to be calm. Suddenly, she found Ula’s eyes trained on her once again and there was fire in the sorceress’s gaze.  
  
“Despite all that, there’s really only one important question left – do you love her?”  
  
The Mord’Sith hesitated. Certainly, she was attracted to the Confessor. And they had become quite close over the course of their travels at the Seeker’s side. Yet, Kahlan had been with Richard. Cara would never dare consider something so disloyal as wooing the Lord Rahl’s mate. But if the Confessor and the Seeker were no longer together…? When Cara had looked down and seen the marauder’s arrows stuck in her, her last thought had not been for her Lord Rahl, it had been for Kahlan. She knew she’d disappoint Kahlan by dying, and the thought made her deeply sad. So sad, in fact, that she’d felt something tear inside of herself…  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
A grin spread across Ula’s face. “Well then, everything should work out just fine. You just hurry back to Aydindril and tell the Mother Confessor how you feel and the rest will fall into place.”  
  
“But..but…“ the Mord’Sith stuttered. Cara’s eyes widened. Did this woman honestly think Cara could just casually mention something like this to the Mother Confessor? Cara’s heart pounded out a sharp, staccato rhythm in her chest and she began to sweat. If Mord’Sith panicked, she imagined that this might be what it felt like.  
  
The sorceress gave her knees a hearty slap and rose from the chair. “Come on, I’ll show you the back way out.”  
  
“I…she…I’m not…” Cara was still having a hard time forming coherent sentences. Ula wrapped a strong hand around her upper arm and began to lead her deeper into the cave. Without conscious thought, Cara found her feet carrying her after the sorceress.  
  
Then, the old woman paused and peered up at Cara. “One more thing. I might have something that will help. I can return your memories from when you were dead.”  
  
Without waiting for a reply, Ula raised her hands toward Cara’s face and the Mord’Sith flinched.  
  
“Come, my dear, it won’t hurt. Stand still,” scolded Ula as if the Mord’Sith was a fidgeting child. Chastened, Cara allowed the woman’s fingers to touch her temples.  
  
Blinding light filled her vision and she felt as if she were tumbling off a great height in slow motion. A soothing, almost smothering warmth expanded in her chest, making it difficult to breath. Jumbled memories flashed through her mind at an impossible speed and the floor began to spin. She found that she couldn’t feel her limbs anymore. All her senses were filled with the steadily growing pressure pressing against her ribs. Then, there was a bang and darkness.  
  
As Ula stood staring at the prone form of the Mord’Sith on the floor of her cavern home, she wondered aloud. “Oh dear, perhaps I shouldn’t have given them to her so fast.”  
  
***  
  
Hidden in the shadows of an archway, Cara studied the Mother Confessor with a mix of intense curiosity, vivid emotion, and no small amount of dread. Kahlan sat beneath the spreading limbs of an oak tree in a secluded corner of one of the courtyard gardens that could be found throughout the grounds of the Confessors Palace. She hunched over a scroll in her lap, no doubt some tediously detailed trade agreement or peace treaty, with more scrolls, books, and quills piled on the stone bench around her. Afternoon sunlight dappled the Confessor’s white gown and the parchment in her hands. The Mord’Sith couldn’t help the slight twist of a smile that crossed her lips – dozens of clerks, secretaries, and servants filled the Confessors Palace, yet Kahlan occasionally insisted on lugging her work out to some quiet corner like this where she could delve into matters of state without the hubbub of so many people trying to assist her. There was a certain restlessness in the way Kahlan’s fingers drummed on the scroll and Cara briefly wondered if the Confessor longed for the independence of the road the way that the Mord’Sith herself sometimes did.  
  
Three long months of memories swirled around in Cara’s mind. With Ula’s dubious assistance, she now understood what Kahlan had suffered to bring her back, the lengths that the Confessor had gone to. She knew what she had felt as she stayed by the Confessor’s side and why, even as an unsubstantial shade, she had refused to leave Kahlan. The Mord’Sith knew now what she needed to do. And she found that she’d rather face a whole pack of gars in heat than approach the beautiful woman sitting beneath the oak tree. To begin with, there would be talking. Cara was no good at talking…especially when emotions were involved. Conversations focusing on intense emotions of the sensitive variety made her more skittish than a mouse in a barn full of cats. And then there were the flowers.  
  
The garden was full of flowers. Bright pink and purple blossoms sprouted all around Kahlan, their soft, loathsome petals swaying in the light breeze, mocking Cara. The Mord’Sith frowned. The moment she stepped into the garden she was sure to begin sneezing. How was she to have any kind of meaningful discussion if those obnoxious weeds kept assaulting her nose and eyes with their foul scent? Cara cast her eyes to the side and shifted uneasily in the archway. She’d been avoiding this confrontation for three days. Certainly it could wait just a little longer? Dennee was still quite capable of carrying out the Mother Confessor’s judgments. No one would find out if Cara just wanted to delay another day or so…  
  
“Cara?”  
  
The sound of the Confessor’s voice startled Cara. The Mord’Sith’s head snapped up. Kahlan was looking at her with puzzled, blue eyes and a half smile. Cara’s mouth went dry.  
  
“Why don’t you come join me? It’s a lovely day and I haven’t seen you much lately,” said the Confessor, motioning to her. With a twinge of guilt, Cara wondered if Kahlan had detected the Mord’Sith’s attempts to avoid her.  
  
Something thick and unpleasant writhed in Cara’s gut, but she held her face neutral as she nodded silently in assent. With a roll of her shoulders, she approached Kahlan with a casual swagger that she hoped hid her unease. The Confessor watched her as she drew near, and Cara felt the gaze like a hot coal being raked across her skin.  
  
_Oh, for the Keeper’s sake, this is Kahlan, not an army of banelings_ , Cara chided herself. She stubbornly ignored the other voice that answered that an army of banelings might be preferable right now.  
  
“Sit by me,” said Kahlan softly, clearing away the scrolls and books on one side of her.  
  
The Mord’Sith sat stiffly, holding her back rigid and clenching her knees with her hands to keep them from fidgeting. She cleared her throat, but did not speak. All the words that she had practiced in her head fled with the nearness of the Confessor.  
  
“Cara, is everything alright?” asked Kahlan, her eyes clouding with concern.  
  
Cara swallowed, then opened her mouth. “Kahlan, there’s something I’ve been meaning to speak to you about. I think that I…I…I…”  
  
With just a moment’s notice from the itch in her nose, the first sneeze violently forced its way out of Cara’s throat. She glowered at the flowers nearest her, as if her stare alone could make them wither and die. The gaily colored blossoms bobbed in gaudy defiance. Cara rubbed the tip of her nose quickly and turned her attention back to the Confessor. Kahlan raised one brow in amusement.  
  
“You were saying?”  
  
“Yes. What I meant to say is that…”  
  
The next sneeze nearly caused Cara to double over. This was no timid, lady-like sneeze, but rather a resounding, angry sound that seemed to echo off the garden walls. The muscles in her sides clenched uncomfortably, and her eyes watered from the force. Cara felt Kahlan’s hand on her back.  
  
“Maybe we should go somewhere else to talk,” started the Confessor.  
  
“No. I just need to get this out. Kahlan, I lo-“  
  
The third sneeze cut her off once again and she growled in frustration. Her hands balled into fists in her lap. Why did this have to be so hard? Then, she caught the half-amused, half-worried look that Kahlan was giving her. Something tantalizing pulled at Cara from behind the blue surface of the Confessor’s eyes. She stared at Kahlan, allowing herself to study Kahlan openly for the first time. She noticed the way the Confessor’s skin flushed under the attention, the way Kahlan unknowingly licked her lips. Cara leaned slightly toward Kahlan and watched as the Confessor’s body subtly answered in kind.  
  
There was a slight tremor in Kahlan’s voice as she said, “Cara, I really think we should get you away from these flowers and-“  
  
Without thought, Cara pushed forward and caught Kahlan’s lips with her own. Using her lips and tongue and teeth, she poured three months worth of memories and love into the kiss. She may well not be able to speak, but, blasted all, she was going to get her point across one damned way or the other. She heard Kahlan’s muffled sound of surprise and then the Confessor’s hands were wrapping themselves in Cara’s hair, tugging her closer. Cara could have stayed like this all afternoon, except for one tiny problem.  
  
The next sneeze.  
  
Cara barely pulled away in time, turning her head to the side as another wretched sneeze wracked her body. The Mord’Sith groaned. If she never saw another flower again, it would be too soon. Kahlan, however, seemed to find the situation much more humorous, and the Confessor’s laugh filled the courtyard.  
  
“Now, can we get out of this garden before you become absolutely miserable?” Kahlan asked playfully.  
  
Cara just nodded and sneezed again.  
  
***  
  
A third of the way up the cliff, Richard wondered if what he had come here for was really worth it. About halfway up, he asked himself what in the Creator’s name he was doing. And by the time he’d scaled three-quarters of the cliff, he realized the only reason he was still going up was because, at this point, it was easier than going down. When he finally tumbled tiredly over the edge of the cave entrance, his arms and back ached and his legs felt like jelly. Nobody knew and few would suspect, but the Seeker _really_ hated heights. He rubbed his face uneasily, trying to get his breathing under control.  
  
“Three visitors in three weeks – I really think it’s time to find a new cave,” growled a rich voice from the depths of the cavern.  
  
Richard propped himself up on elbows and his head swiveled around, trying to find the source. An old woman seated by a fire stared at him with a slightly sour look.  
  
“But you’re the Crone. Aren’t people supposed to find you for help with their problems?” asked the Seeker.  
  
“Of course, but three people all asking about the same problem does become a bit tiresome,” replied Ula with a shake of her head. “The cliff was supposed to make sure only the brave of heart and the true of purpose came to me with their concerns. Seems the Midlands has too many of those type for my own good. And it’s Ula, by the way. I don’t like being called the Crone, except on formal occasions.”  
  
Richard gawked at the sorceress. He thought she heard her snort and then mutter something that distinctly sounded like ‘blasted heroes’. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. This was not how he’d foreseen the conversation going. He had no idea what to say.  
  
Ula gave him another shrewd look and then sighed, her shoulders dropping in resignation. “Well, come on over, dear. You should at least have a little something to eat before you go back down. I can’t imagine you’re feeling all that great, what with your fear of heights and all.”  
  
Richard scrambled to his feet. “How did you know that? Nobody knows that.”  
  
“Same way I know what it is that you want. Part of the whole wise sorceress package, you see. Sometimes things just come to me. Well, that, and you did look like you were going to pass out about halfway up,” chuckled Ula. “You should have seen your face.”  
  
The Seeker scratched his beard self-consciously, while the hot flush of embarrassment crept up his neck. The sorceress grinned at him, mirth glinting in her eyes. Despite her amusement, Richard could see no malice in her face, and his shoulders relaxed a fraction. She was simply poking fun at him, not trying to wound his pride.  
  
“Oh, come on, then. Sit, eat,” the old woman said again.  
  
Shaking out his weary arms and hands, Richard walked slowly over to Ula. The dish she was preparing smelled utterly delicious. His stomach growled in anticipation.  
  
“I hope you like rabbit, child,” said Ula, spooning out two heaping ladle’s worth of hare and mushroom stew over a plate of wild greens.  
  
“It smells wonderful,” replied Richard, taking the plate with a nod of thanks.  
  
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Richard watched Ula studying him with an inscrutable expression as he shoveled forkfuls of the savory meal into his mouth. He hadn’t realized how ravenous he was, and now he grinned his appreciation in between bites. However, as his stomach filled and his hunger abated, he began to remember his real purpose for being there and his heart felt immensely heavy.  
  
“I know you’re going to say your piece one way or the other, so we might as well get on with it. What is it that you want with me?” asked Ula evenly.  
  
“I thought you said you knew what I want,” mumbled Richard.  
  
“Well, I have more of a general sense of what this is about. I’m afraid, you’re going to have to fill in the particulars, though,” responded the sorceress, not unkindly.  
  
Despite his pleasure from a moment before, the food on Richard’s plate was suddenly unappetizing. He poked at it listlessly with his fork. He refused to meet Ula’s eyes as he contemplated his words.  
  
“I want you to undo what you did,” he finally replied, still avoiding her gaze.  
  
“So, the Seeker of Truth wants me to kill his most loyal companion and the love of the Mother Confessor?”  
  
The question struck Richard hard enough that his head snapped around to catch the sorceress staring at him with incredulous eyes.  
  
“What?! No, of course not! I don’t want Cara to die again. I just want Kahlan back. I thought that your spell…well, the two of them…I mean, I thought your magic connected them somehow when you brought Cara back.”  
  
Richard didn’t really know what he meant. All he knew was that before Kahlan and he parted ways, they had still been in love…hadn’t they? Sure, the last conversation had been bitter, but as soon as he’d ridden away he’d regretted it. He’d immediately apologized by journeybook and had written her every day since to tell her how much he loved and missed her. Her responses had been cool and distant, but he only assumed that she was still mad at him and even he admitted that he somewhat deserved it. He gave her the space he thought she needed, while she continued her quest and he established his presence at the People’s Palace with Zedd. He’d been overjoyed at the news of Cara’s resurrection. He never could have imagined, would never have dreamed of what he found when he returned to Aydindril to surprise the Mother Confessor and the Mord’Sith both…  
  
Richard gave his head a violent shake. He noticed that Ula’s expression had softened into a look of deep sympathy.  
  
“I take it that the Mother Confessor and the Mord’Sith have become close?” asked the old woman gently.  
  
Richard snorted at this. Putting his plate aside, he stood and began to pace in front of the sorceress and her fire, motioning with his hands as he talked. “Close enough you can’t see a ray of sunlight between them. Kahlan’s always been a little bit affectionate, but this…this is ridiculous! You can’t separate the two. And I think…I think…they’ve been, well…”  
  
Grimacing, Richard couldn’t help but remember one of the dinners he’d shared with Kahlan and Cara. The two women had sat side by side and the whole night Cara’s left hand drifted towards Kahlan’s right, sometimes holding it gently, occasionally stroking it with playful fingers. Richard had been flummoxed…did Mord’Sith even hold hands? Wasn’t there a rule against that somewhere? Then, as dessert was being served Cara’s hand had disappeared below the edge of the table and Kahlan had blushed. She blushed! Richard had nearly spit out his pudding.  
  
“Ah, I see. They’ve been intimate,” said Ula gingerly.  
  
At the sorceress’s words, Richard collapsed back onto his seat and buried his head in his hands. “Oh Spirits…I don’t know what to do!”  
  
“I see your predicament. Unfortunately, my dear, there’s nothing I can do. You see, my spell did nothing but bring Cara back from the dead. The rest of it - what’s between them - was already there. I didn’t make it happen,” the sorceress replied, her voice firm but gentle.  
  
Richard stared sadly at his hands for a long moment. Quietly, he said, “I’ve lost her then.”  
  
It was a statement, not a question. He could feel a hand gently patting him on the shoulder, which sagged under the touch.  
  
“How could I have been so blind?” he asked bitterly. “I’m the Seeker of Truth.”  
  
“Perhaps, for once, you did not want to see,” came the reply. The hand moved from his shoulder to his forearm and squeezed it comfortingly. He glanced at the hand, then looked away - then looked back again, squinting. His eyebrows wrinkled in confusion.  
  
“Ula…your hand!”  
  
The hand holding his arm wasn’t the gnarled limb of an old woman. The fingers were slender, the skin smooth and unblemished. The sorceress jerked her hand away.  
  
“Oh, dear me, how embarrassing,” she laughed nervously.  
  
Richard jumped from his seat, his brow furrowed. Angrily, he pointed at her hand. “What is going on here?!”  
  
“Nothing to worry yourself about,” replied Ula. She flexed her hand, the skin now spotted and wrinkled, the knuckles thick with arthritis.  
  
Richard’s eyes grew wide as a thought entered his head. “You’re not the Crone!”  
  
“What on earth are you talking about, child?” asked the sorceress smoothly, but a small twitch by her eye gave away her nervousness.  
  
“I may have been blind about Kahlan, but I can tell when I am being deceived,” he nearly shouted, taking a step toward her.  
  
“STOP!”  
  
Richard suddenly found himself frozen in mid-stride, held immobile by an invisible force pressing on him from all sides. Ula was on her feet, a hand out-stretched toward him, anger streaking through her eyes like thunderclouds.  
  
“You would dare attack the Crone!” she roared.  
  
“You’re not the Crone,” he repeated angrily, finding that his mouth could work even if his limbs couldn’t.  
  
The fight seemed to drain out of Ula. She dropped her hand, though when Richard tried to move he discovered that his limbs were still uncooperative. She eyed him for a moment, with one fist on her hip, the other hand rubbing her forehead wearily. She sighed.  
  
“You’re right…and you’re wrong,” she finally said. “If you promise on your honor as the Seeker that you will never reveal my secret, I shall tell you the truth of the matter.”  
  
“You have a deal,” he said. Not that he saw many other options. Whoever she was, this woman was clearly powerful enough to fling him off the cliff with a flick of her wrist.  
  
With a wave of her hand, Richard fell free of the invisible force, stumbling forward with the tug of his delayed momentum. Another flourish, and the sorceress transformed into a young woman, scarcely older than Richard himself. Thick, raven hair cascaded over her shoulder, only a single streak of silver remaining of her old self.  
  
“I’m not _the_ Crone. I’m _a_ Crone. Wait, I’m not done,” she said, holding up her hand to forestall his interjection. “Yes, I’m a little young for the job, but only because the Crone before me retired early. You see, there always has to be a Crone, that’s how it works. One does the job, while the younger ones in line behind her continue their training.”  
  
“But why disguise yourself? You’re…you’re beautiful,” said Richard, realizing the words were true.  
  
Ula laughed at this. “Have you ever tried being taken seriously as a Crone when you look like a Maiden? Let me tell you, it doesn’t work so well. The glamour helps create the mood, if you will.”  
  
“But it’s a lie,” protested Richard.  
  
“Not really. My magic works just the same, no matter what I look like. I’m as qualified as any Crone who’s come before me, and don’t you forget it,” answered the sorceress crossly.  
  
“Is your name really Ula?”  
  
“Yes. The Crone before me was named Marion, and the one before that was Alma. We do get to keep our own names. Marion was a stickler for the title though. Always insisted that using your own name 'diminished the credibility of the Crone'. I’m a bit more lax in that area, though I’m thinking I should really reconsider that position after today.”  
  
“But what happened?” asked Richard. “Why did the glamour slip?”  
  
Quite unexpectedly, the sorceress seemed to get a bit flustered. Her eyes darted away from Richard as she replied, “I got distracted.”  
  
“Distracted?”  
  
“Well, you are quite cute.”  
  
“Oh.” Now Richard found himself feeling a little awkward as well. He rubbed the back of his neck and nudged a small stone of the cave floor with his shoe.  
  
“Oh,” he repeated. “That’s very kind, Ula, but I’m…my heart is still spoken for…even if I’m not…”  
  
Richard was surprised when, instead of the hurt or anger he expected, the sorceress laughed, a full, melodic sound that bounced off the cave walls. The Seeker thought it was a wonderful sound.  
  
“Really, Richard, I wasn’t asking you to betroth yourself to me. I was merely commenting on how handsome you are. My first greeting to you aside, I don’t actually get many visitors, and most of the ones I do aren’t nearly as appealing as you. Forgive a woman a momentary indiscretion.” Richard caught the amused glint in Ula’s eyes and he exhaled.  
  
“I’m sorry that I forced you to reveal your secret,” he said quietly.  
  
“My dear, you couldn’t have forced it out of me if you wanted to.” The sorceress’s face turned stern, and Richard reddened at his poor phrasing, until he caught the hint of humor still lurking in her gaze. “It feels good to finally look like myself for once. I’m just glad you agreed to keep my confidence – it would have been a shame to kill you.”  
  
“Right, then…um, I think I should go,” said Richard uncertainly.  
  
Ula sighed. “If you must. Let me show you the stairs.”  
  
“And you’re sure? About Kahlan and Cara? Isn’t there something you can do?”  
  
“Let’s see – yes, yes, and absolutely not,” replied Ula, an exasperated tone creeping into her voice.  
  
It was the answer Richard anticipated, but his shoulders slumped with the sorceress’s words anyway. He couldn’t bear the thought of returning to Aydindril now. Seeing Kahlan would be too much. A dark shadow loomed over his heart and he feared it would never see the sunlight again. So deep did he draw the gloom around him that the hand on his arm startled him.  
  
“For what it’s worth,” said Ula, her face etched with concern, “you will move on, eventually. That much I know.” A small smirk briefly crossed her lips, before disappearing again. “And if you’re feeling lonely, you can always come and visit. I would enjoy having someone around who I don’t have to pretend with.”  
  
“Maybe,” replied Richard. It was not much comfort, but it was something. He gave her a small, weak smile.  
  
The sorceress flashed another smile as she said, “If you’re nice, next time I might even let you use the stairs on the way up.”  
  
***  
  
Cara stood on the balcony in the moonlight, watching as her Lord Rahl rode off into the darkness. A cool breeze cut the summer heat and ruffled her hair, but she was unaware of it, her attention focused on the figure disappearing through the main gates of the Confessor’s Palace. For the life of her, she could not fathom his strange behavior.  
  
The first time he had come to Aydindril after her resurrection, he had clearly been devastated by the developments between herself and the Mother Confessor. Though she could scarcely help the way she had behaved around Kahlan and had made no attempt to hide her feelings, she had not been unsympathetic to his position. Then, the Seeker had fled the city before Cara had a chance to speak to him privately. When he had returned, days later, he had refused to reveal where he had been. _Sulking in the woods, most likely_ , thought Cara. Not that she could blame him. Yet, when he’d finally shown up again, he seemed more resigned than morose. He’d left for D’Hara the next morning, ordering her once again to stay with Kahlan, for which Cara was grateful. There was no possibility that she would leave the Confessor’s side, but she would have hated to resort to disobeying orders to do it.  
  
But that wasn’t the strange part. Despite his loss, Richard was an honorable man and a good friend, and it didn’t surprise Cara that he’d accepted her new bond with Kahlan with a modicum of grace. What bothered her was that he kept coming back to Aydindril. It had been a year since that first fateful visit, and the Seeker had returned to Aydindril no less than five times. Most certainly there were affairs of state between to the two nations - and it had gotten to where Cara, Kahlan and Richard could genuinely enjoy each other’s company again - but most of the political arrangements could have easily been taken care of through journeybook, and Aydindril was no easy ride from D’Hara for a simple social call. The most bothersome fact of all was that when Richard came, it always seemed as if Aydindril were simply a stopping point along his journey somewhere else…  
  
“You should stop worrying, Cara,” said Kahlan, as she stepped out onto the balcony behind the Mord’Sith.  
  
“I am Mord’Sith – it’s my place to worry about the Lord Rahl. Look, he’s riding off without an escort as if he were a woods guide still, and not the ruler of D’Hara,” grumbled Cara.  
  
“My love, Richard can take care of himself,” answered Kahlan, as she came to stand behind the Mord’Sith and slipped her arms around Cara’s waist. Cara felt Kahlan’s chin resting on her shoulder, the Confessor’s hot breath brushing her ear. The sensation sent tingles down her spine.  
  
“Besides,” continued Kahlan, “it’s not far to Ula’s cave from here.”  
  
Cara leaned to the side and angled her head so she could see the Confessor’s face. “What does that old witch have to do with Richard?”  
  
“I honestly can’t say. I only learned of where he goes because I overheard a conversation between Richard and Zedd. With the way Richard was talking, he seems to have grown quite fond of Ula.”  
  
“How fond?” asked Cara warily.  
  
Kahlan laughed at the suspicious expression on Cara’s face. “Cara, she’s an old woman. I hardly think that Richard-”  
  
“Shota is ancient, but that doesn’t keep her from acting like a trollop,” interrupted Cara, narrowing her eyes at the Confessor. “What if she has enchanted him?”  
  
Kahlan sighed at the Mord’Sith’s persistence. “Richard is no more bewitched by Ula than you or I are. He has always returned safely from his visits with her. And really, if there is something more going on between them than simple friendship, I don’t want to think about it. Now, can we please stop talking about Richard?”  
  
Cara opened her mouth to protest, meaning to express her displeasure at Kahlan’s cavalier attitude toward the protection of the Lord Rahl, but her words were swallowed by the Confessor’s lips on hers. Kahlan’s tongue danced in her mouth, sweeping aside all thoughts of Richard and the sorceress. The Mord’Sith shifted in Kahlan’s arms, bringing their bodies flush with one another. Through her leather Cara could feel the curves of the Confessor’s body, the swell of Kahlan’s breasts pressed against hers. The Mord’Sith shivered from the contact.  
  
When the kiss ended, Cara stared at the Confessor. Wasn’t there something she had just been about to say? A tickle in her mind made her think that maybe she had forgotten something critical, but, falling deep into Kahlan’s ice blue eyes, Cara found she hadn’t the faintest clue what it was. The shadow of thought that lurked in her head was no match for the emotions that swelled in her chest under the Confessor’s gaze. Then Kahlan was kissing her again, and the only important thing became figuring out how to get the Confessor off the balcony and back to her bed chambers without prematurely ending the kiss.  
  
Once Cara had made her feelings for Kahlan known it had not taken long before the Confessor’s power returned to her – a mere matter of days in fact. This had not kept Cara from insisting on demonstrating her own ‘power’ to Kahlan frequently and with great vigor. It would never do for the Confessor to lose her power again, now would it? Cara thought about this as her back accidentally slammed into the stone doorframe and she blindly fumbled for the door knob with one hand while keeping the other arm wrapped around the Confessor. Kahlan had gone nearly to the ends of the world for her and proven to the Mord’Sith that she would do anything for her. As Cara kissed Kahlan fiercely, causing the Confessor to moan against her lips, the Mord’Sith inwardly smiled. Cara figured that this was the least that she could do to show Kahlan her gratitude.


End file.
